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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24793153">escaping into each other</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavensabove/pseuds/heavensabove'>heavensabove</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>anika trevelyan &amp; her circumstances [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bath Sex, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Second Time, lake sex actually</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 10:40:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,491</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24793153</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavensabove/pseuds/heavensabove</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Anika and Thom in the Exalted Plains, trying to reignite their relationship. Instead, they get drenched.</p>
<p>(This extremely terrible summary is trying to tell you that they have sex near a body of water.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Blackwall/Female Inquisitor, Blackwall/Female Trevelyan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>anika trevelyan &amp; her circumstances [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1749697</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>escaping into each other</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Why is this 5000+ words? I don't know, friend. Get a snack. Find a comfortable spot. Mark the end of any scene of your choice as intermission and come back later.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The expedition to the Exalted Plains is more of an escape plan, a decision Anika makes out of sheer desperation to leave the awkwardness, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>heaviness</span>
  </em>
  <span> of Skyhold behind. It’s the first time she doesn’t have to stifle dread at the long weeks, or even months, it takes to sort out issues in such areas.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She assembles her team very carefully. It’s been a little longer than a week since Thom’s judgement, and resentment lingers in the air like wisps of poison. She’s rescuing him as well as herself, and no equation with him in it can include Cassandra, or Vivienne, or even Dorian, whose refusal to sink into outright nastiness is offset by his tendency to make sharp remarks that cut quickly and to the bone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Solas is neutral as can be, polite if not exactly amicable. He’ll do his magely duties with little time to spare for moralizing or sarcasm. Varric is a blessing, non-judgmental, easy-going, thinning the tension with his wry humor but careful not to cross limits.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The plains are beautiful. Abundant with nature - stunning rock formations and rolling hills, vibrant grass dotted with flowers and plants, flocks of halla running along the banks of gentle rivers whose waters shimmer under sunlight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But they’re also pockmarked with evidence of extraordinary cruelty. Their past is well known, the ruins calling out to this age for acknowledgement of all that was lost. And then there is the contemporary - undead-infested ramparts, charred remains of houses and communities, blood-splattered letters extinguishing hopes, dreams and plans.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anika is still reeling from discovering the bones of a mother and child, impaled as one, when she notices that Thom has become even quieter than usual. Other times, seeing her so affected, Thom would be quick to make some sort of gesture, a hand on her shoulder or back, some reassuring words.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She turns to look at him and finds his head lowered, his eyes on the ground. It’s then that realization hits her, what this reminds him of.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She swallows thickly, unsure of what to say. It’s still painful for her to remember too, to reconcile such an act with the man before her. Some part of her will never really be able to comprehend it - she hasn’t seen him like that, only as he is now, and how could…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shakes her head as Varric says that they should keep moving.</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>They spend the rest of the day clearing the western ramparts, laying its piles of dead to rest. Then, exhausted, they use the light from the funeral pyre to guide themselves to the horn.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Varric sits down immediately, dropping to the floor with his back against the wood. Solas is dignified even in his haggard state. He leans against a post, his arms crossed, looking thoughtful. Anika sinks into an inelegant heap beside Varric.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Helluva day.” Varric remarks, pulling off his helmet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And another long day awaits.” Solas says. “I have a feeling there will be more undead waiting to greet us at Fort Revasan.” He sounds unusually weary, as if he’s had all the interaction with lumbering corpses he can take. Anika sympathizes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks for reminding me. It wouldn’t do at all to have a moment’s respite.” Varric’s voice is thick with sarcasm and mirth. Solas smiles very slightly, then returns to looking academic.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As the quiet falls over them, Anika realizes she can't see Thom. There’s a slight panic, an automatic reaction she tries to tamp down as she looks around. She spots his helmet on the ground next to the horn.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She gets up. Neither of her companions question her as she begins to search, but she hardly has time to be sheepish about her obviousness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She finds Thom sitting behind a splintered wall, eyes closed, hands curled into fists. She stares in silence, relieved at first but then feeling awkward, like she’s intruded into something.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did I worry you, my lady?” he asks softly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She lowers her head. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You always worry me now</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thinks but she can’t well allow that to come out of her mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wanted to make sure you were alright, that’s all.” she says. “Can I…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wordlessly, he shifts to the side, making room for her. She takes her place very timidly, carefully, as if she’s afraid of waking some beast.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A few days before their departure, she had gone to inform him of the expedition. The air between them had still been charged with unease, her sentences stumbling out. She had been surprised when he had responded to the clumsy end of her stiff, professional instruction with an invitation to join him by the fire.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They had sat much like they sit now, side by side with a finger’s length of distance. The crackling warmth before them did a lot to unwind her, and she went to call him by the name she had always known him by, and stopped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anika flushes even today to think that she had called that name in passion, so very many times during that night. If the Maker had any mercy, Gordon Blackwall’s soul hadn’t heard a thing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Flushing then, too, she had gone to call him Thom and stopped just as her mouth formed it. She had then asked him what he wanted to be called, because she didn’t know what </span>
  <em>
    <span>she</span>
  </em>
  <span> wanted to call him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had responded without a pause, and he wanted to be called Blackwall. He aspired to </span>
  <em>
    <span>be</span>
  </em>
  <span> Blackwall, in spirit. Anika thought well of it, understood how much Blackwall and being Blackwall had come to mean to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But when she called him Blackwall, it rolled uneasily off her tongue, a hint of previously unknown formality tainting the name. Thom Rainier still felt acutely odd to say - although she’ll admit readily that it’s far more attractive, a name so dashing it would fit some rakish protagonist from a Varric Tethras saga of mystery and intrigue - and now Blackwall, too, felt abnormal.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anika doesn’t call him Blackwall anymore, not when they’re among their own and certainly not when alone. She’s taken Thom’s oddness and tried to make it familiar, to wrap her tongue around it. There are those in their circle who still address him as Blackwall, perhaps to hold at bay the disgust Thom Rainier’s crimes evoke. A few call him Rainier, and some, such as Cassandra, don’t address him by name at all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Only Anika calls him Thom, and she hopes eventually it will become her own, the oddness dissipating, replaced by intimacy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Intimacy. Anika glances at Thom, a delicate little look lost to his once again closed eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After they had gotten over the strained details of what to call him, silence had enveloped them. Anika’s awareness of his proximity had heightened, warming her in a different way than the fire.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They hadn’t been too physical with one another since the day of judgment, with even that dramatic kiss being chaste and tame. Anika had missed being close to him, and she chanced drawing even closer, slowly laying her head on his shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thom had breathed in deeply, surprised but not uncomfortable. When she put her hand on his bicep, he had laid his own on top, leaning his head against hers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She chose that moment to ask him what would happen next. About their future.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anika smiles now thinking of it. A house and a dog. A reply that wasn’t entirely unserious: she can see him, in the house, with the dog sitting and panting by Thom’s feet as he relaxes at the kitchen table. She can see herself cooking eggs too - over a fire, not with the Mark.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And she’s added her own discreet desires to the fantasy, that she hopes he will be content with: toys on the floor, a baby’s hammock swinging gently in the breeze.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had melted into a puddle at his more earnest response - that he cared for nothing except her presence by his side - her heart fluttering, smile shy but so wide it almost hurt. And then she had kissed him, a soft kiss not unlike the most recent one they had shared.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It ended up being the starting point of a series of kisses, gentle pecks gradually becoming more and more intense, strong desires emerging for the first time since that night. Their breaths labored, heavy with need, their hands wandering everywhere.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It would’ve, undoubtedly, become the second time Anika had sex if Dennet hadn’t walked in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At the time, she had been mournful, angry even, yet embarrassed enough that she hid her face against Thom’s neck as Dennet stammered through an apology. Thom had somehow managed to respond courteously, even if he couldn’t quite hide the edge in his voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now she can appreciate the humor in the situation, as well as the fact that being stopped was probably for the best -- having the bartender look her in the eye and slyly speak of spooked horses is an experience Anika doesn’t want to repeat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And here I thought </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> was brooding.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anika blinks, startled out of her thoughts. She looks at Thom, whose eyes are suddenly on her, his expression betraying light amusement. He’s teasing her. She finds herself smiling, glad at the change in his mood.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What can I say? It’s infectious.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thom chuckles. His fingers brush against the back of her hand and she turns it so they can entwine with hers. She wishes they were unarmored, so she could feel his skin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What had you so lost in thought?” Thom asks. Anika bites her lip against a shy smile, but fails to stop the blush, or the slight giggle that works itself out of her throat. She can hear the smirk in his voice when he speaks again. “Ah, I see.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She glances up at him innocently. “What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She gasps as he wraps an arm around her, pulling her towards him. She tumbles onto his lap with a breathless laugh and his other arm comes around, hand threading through her loosened hair. She looks at him, watches his blue eyes darken to a color reminiscent of the Storm Coast’s restless sea. Her giddiness evaporates, and her mouth begins to feel dry. She clutches his gambeson, wishing for </span>
  <em>
    <span>less</span>
  </em>
  <span>, remembering the way his bare chest had felt under her fingertips, against her breasts and her lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His chestplate clinks against her armor as he crushes his mouth to hers, no slowness, no tenderness. She whimpers, hands moving up, one fisting his hair and the other cupping his neck. His tongue swipes against her lip and she opens up, moaning when he thrusts it inside, more memories of their only night together sending pinpricks of heat racing up her spine. How she wants these lips of his somewhere else, repeating these motions on parts much more sensitive.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’re heading that way, tugging on pieces of armor, his chestplate and one gauntlet half off, lost to their surroundings.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ahem.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They go rigid, the sound falling on them like a bucket of cold water.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry to interrupt, but you guys realize this isn’t the ideal place for all...that, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Varric.” Thom says. Half-says. It’s half a sound a demented hound would make, a strained rumbling growl.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anika scrambles off Thom’s lap, eyes wide. She looks around and finds Varric nowhere, realizing that he never came around the wall they’re hiding behind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had </span>
  <em>
    <span>heard</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Oh Maker.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I saw torches in the distance. It’s probably the troops. We should start for the camp...where there’s tents.” Varric says, a suggestive lilt to his voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anika mumbles something in affirmation and springs up, barreling around the wall and past Varric with his stupid grin. An all too knowing Solas remains tastefully quiet as she gathers up her things.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The walk back to the nearest camp is brisk, with Solas’ fire magic lighting the way. Varric stifles a snicker every now and then, having been placed firmly between Anika and Thom, who both refuse to look at him or each other, preferring to stare at Solas’ back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Upon arriving, Anika dives into a discussion with the requisition officer as the others begin preparations for bed. She waits until Solas chooses a tent. As she disappears behind the flaps, she hears Varric clicking his tongue.</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck.” Thom growls under his breath. His arm is wound tightly around her waist, his hand cradling her head. Even through her blurred vision, she notices how beads of sweat are forming on his creased forehead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s overwhelming, this closeness, the rough texture of his voice. The world is spinning around them and everything seems to have taken on a lovely, gauzy quality.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, from somewhere far away, Solas exclaims in elvish. Anika frowns.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re out of potions.” Solas says.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Thom says, clearer and louder this time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m fine.” Anika says. Her hair is sticky and warm, and the left side of her head is throbbing, but she’s okay. She’s taken worse falls before, been hit harder by deadlier objects. That shield was nothing. It’s only unfortunate that her helmet came off before she hit the ground.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What’s not okay is how distressed Thom seems. His tortured eyes stare deep into hers, and she can see the familiar clouds of self-hate forming in them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, you are not.” Solas says flatly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Am too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your words are slurred.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are not.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is all my damn fault.” Thom says, voice trembling. “If I had taken those fucking assassins down sooner…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How cou…” Anika blinks again, mind blanking for a second. “How...could...you have...they were dancing. All around.” She remembers how assassins whirl and twirl, and sneers. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>hate</span>
  </em>
  <span> assassins.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How’s she now?” Varric is clambering towards them, dark plumes of smoke rising behind him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not well. There are no more potions.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We need to hurry to the nearest camp.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right. I’ll just blow the horn---”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck the horn!” Thom growls.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nnn….” Anika lifts her hand, or tries to. It rises halfway and then flops down on Thom’s thigh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What? What?” Thom’s voice is thick with fear. He looks to Solas. “She’s getting worse.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I believe she is protesting the idea of leaving the ramparts unattended, possibly to be reclaimed by more Freemen. It will not take long for Varric to blow the horn and save the work we’ve done. We can prepare the mounts, in the meantime.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My dracolisk…” Anika says, making a failed attempt at sitting up. Thom tightens his hold.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Solas shakes his head. “You cannot be allowed to ride on your own, let alone that...</span>
  <em>
    <span>unpredictable</span>
  </em>
  <span> creature.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But he---”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Will be looked after by the troops until we can come back.” Thom says firmly. “You’ll be riding with me today, my lady.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anika smiles dopily. “Okay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thom cushions her head against his shoulder as he picks her up, bridal-style, talking softly to her as he moves. The horn pierces the air, making Anika’s head throb harder. She winces.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thom puts her first on the horse, trusting Solas to hold her steady as he himself mounts. He uses a cloth to strap her to him, and she giggles because she feels like a </span>
  <em>
    <span>baby</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and it’s actually sort of nice, to have him care for her like this, to be handled so delicately. She wonders how he handles real babies.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She purses her lips as he cradles her head in the crook of his neck. “Thom…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, my lady?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you like babies?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He lets out a startled chuckle. “I mean...I don’t have much experience with them, but sure. Why not?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hums happily. “Good.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He chuckles again. “Why’s that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because I’d like to have your babies.” She says, burying her nose in the fabric of his gambeson.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh.” He breathes in sharply.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Varric coughs next to them, secure on his mount. “We should </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> get going.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right.”</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>Anika hears birds chirping, the pleasant sound penetrating her deep fog of sleep. She opens her eyes a crack and sees small beams of sunlight coming in through minute gaps in the tent's cloth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shifts the slightest bit and suddenly notices the warm gusts of air hitting her neck in a steady rhythm, accompanied by a soft snoring sound. She turns, still sleep-dazed, and finds herself staring up at a great mane of dark hair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A giddy smile stretches her lips as she realizes who she's sharing a bedroll with.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thom looks peaceful, something far too rare for him. His chest rises and falls evenly, his arm loosely wound around her shoulders. He's dressed only in his grey tunic, which is light and clings to his bulky frame, small strands of black hair peeking out from the neckline.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anika runs her hand down his chest and abdomen, laying her palm flat against his hard stomach. She feels desire stirring in her and sucks her lower lip into her mouth. She studies his serene features for a second, contemplating if she should kiss him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She decides against it, reasoning that he deserves this rest, this respite. Instead, she presses her ear against his heartbeat, delighting in its easy, slowed pattern, softly caressing his left shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's then that she feels the length of linen wrapped around her forehead. Her nose wrinkles as it registers the stale mixture of herbs and the smell from her sweat-dampened hair. In fact, she feels sweaty and grimy all over.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Vaguely, she remembers yesterday's events. The shield charge, the fall, the split-open skin and horrible throbbing head. Thom holding her against him as they rode to camp. Potions forced down her throat, awful-smelling salves applied generously to her cleaned wound before she blacked out from exhaustion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stifles a groan, wanting to take the thing off. She needs to, wants to bathe but just as equally she wants not to move an inch. It's too comfortable here with him, and if she shifts around too much, him being such a light sleeper, he'll probably wake up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hears his breath hitch and stifles another groan. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Too late</span>
  </em>
  <span>. His breathing changes to a faster rhythm, his arm that was around her coming up to grasp her more firmly, his other arm joining it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anika flushes as he chuckles sleepily, his voice low and raspy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You're awake. I'm glad."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Sorry for waking you." She sighs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"About time I did, anyway. How are you feeling?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Disgusting. I'm caked with dirt and old sweat and new sweat and…Maker knows what else." She makes a face, one hand reaching up to push at the linen bandage. "And this smells wretched, as usual."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thom laughs. "Was necessary, love."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I still don't have to like it."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Besides the hygiene thing, how are you feeling?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anika blinks. "Surprisingly fine." She looks up at him with a mischievous smile. "But that could just be because of this...arrangement."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thom half-grins, biting his lip against it, a low laugh rumbling in his chest. "Didn't want to be away from you while you were hurt."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Mm." She plants her face into his chest, breathing in his scent. For some reason, a day's effort smells good on him, masculine and heady.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"By the way…"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Hm?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Do you remember what you said to me when we were riding back?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anika hums. "Remind me."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You were talking about babies." Thom says, drawing the last word out, wickedness radiating from his voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She opens her eyes, feeling a slight heat rise in her face. She clamps down a giggle. "Was I? I was probably delirious." She raises herself up and, as slickly as she would outmaneuver an enemy on the battlefield, slips out of Thom's grasp. He sits up, partly in surprise but quickly catching onto the game. "I simply </span>
  <em>
    <span>must</span>
  </em>
  <span> take a bath."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He leers at her. "You truly have recovered fast, my lady."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Well, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span> the Inquisitor. And the Herald. Have to be made of stronger stuff than most." She smiles at him sweetly, then turns and almost skips through the flaps.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gentle daylight greets her, along with the camp's clutch of soldiers and scouts. Then there's Varric sitting by the campfire, a cup of something nice and hot in his hands. He looks like he hasn't fully roused himself yet, but still has his wits about enough to grin at her as he says good morning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She returns it with a mock glare, before making her way to the supply crate. She gets soap and towels, then walks over to her personal luggage to get clothes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After putting out the fires in the nearby buildings and removing the debris, and the bodies, the soldiers had erected a wood and cloth barrier in an area much off to the side, near a giant rock jutting out of the ground and overlooking the restful lake, creating a makeshift bath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's crude but more than what they're usually able to get at camps, better than wiping off with soaked rags or dousing yourself with a single bucket of water. Dorian would be ecstatic.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anika smiles at frolicking halla as she walks to it, ducking under the cloth. She lays her clothes on a dry spot near the rock, her towels close to the edge of the lake, then pulls off the linen bandage with a satisfied grunt. Her wound feels only slightly sore under her fingertips, already beginning to heal; as much as she hates the salves, they work.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After disrobing, she tests the water, swirling a toe around in it. It's warm and she makes a noise of approval before wading in fully.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She enjoys bathing, treats it almost as a ritual. Scooping up palm fulls of water with deliberate slowness, letting it drip onto her skin, rubbing it in before she repeats the step, gradually adding in soap, working up a lather. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She dunks her head in, wetting her hair, throwing it back. It's grown a bit, now touching her shoulders. She massages all the dirt and residue out of her scalp, wondering if she should start to grow it out for real. The women in her family are blessed with long, thick hair. Her mother and sister's reach their backs in waves. Her grandmother's used to swirl around her ankles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She imagines Thom running his fingers through her hair, grasping fistfuls of it gently. She imagines him with his head on her lap and her brushing it over his face and neck, tickling his skin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She decides she </span>
  <em>
    <span>will</span>
  </em>
  <span> grow it out. She can put it up in a bun during expeditions, so it won't inconvenience her. She laughs a little; her mother would be happy to see this change in her, after being so dismayed at her habit of chopping it all off to just a few inches under her chin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As she soaps her face, she hears footsteps heading towards her. She remains at ease. Everyone at camp is aware she's here, and the only person who would approach knowing that is him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A shuffle, the cloth lifting and the heavy footsteps stop. She splashes water on her face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"May I join you?" Thom says, voice dripping with suggestion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A shyness overcomes her, strange and sudden. She keeps her back to him as she says: "Of course."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His clothing falls to the ground, one by one. She hears him wade in, submerge himself, then re-emerge with a gasp that makes her shiver.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I…forgot to bring soap." He lies, and she turns slightly to hold out her ball of soap. He brushes her hand slowly as he takes it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They spend a few minutes in silence, Anika refusing to look at him, ducking her head and crossing her arms over her chest under the pretext of washing, but actually from a sense of modesty.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Modesty in front of her lover. He's seen all of her, clearly enjoyed the view, and she had loved the way his eyes moved over her. There's no reason for this, but rationality seems not to hold as much sway at the moment. She shakes her head at the silliness of it all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His fingers flutter over her back. She jumps, moving forward out of his reach with a choked gasp. He chuckles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Sorry for startling you. Just wanted to give you your soap back."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Keep it." She says shakily, lips threatening a smile. She turns and scrambles to the bank, where she grabs a towel and wraps herself in it before she's fully out of the water. It gets wet, clings to her, but she pays it no mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hears the water stirring behind her, splashes of it falling on skin, sloshing as he moves around. She finds her other towel and begins drying her hair with it, suddenly trembling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She somehow both expects and is shocked by the firm grip on her upper arms, hands large and warm against her damp skin. A strong pull and she's face to face with Thom, staring into his eyes darkened by lust; staring at his parted lips, his chest rising and falling heavily, drops of water sliding down his skin, clinging to it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She opens her mouth to - squeak, really, but he cups the side of her face and presses his thumb against her lips, silencing her. His other hand tugs away the towel. She whimpers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pulls her so she's plastered against him, and the feel of it makes her moan, her hand coming up to grab his bicep. He presses his palm against the small of her back, grins impishly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The first kiss is almost mockery, chaste and courtly, incongruous to their state. He moves away, licks his lips and comes back, and this time it's a hard kiss, wanton and demanding, pushing apart her lips and seeking her tongue, teeth clicking together, as if he's following up the flaccidity of the first kiss with a demonstration of what a real one is.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She paws at his neck and chest, not knowing where exactly to rest her hands. When the lack of air begins to burn, she breaks away with a gasp, but he barely allows her two gulps before he kisses her again, pressing some of his weight on her, pushing her down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They're on her discarded towels. He presses himself flush against her, trapping her between his body and the ground. Her legs move instinctively to either side of his hips, her hands running down his neck and back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With no barriers between them, she can feel him, throbbing against her pelvis. She breaks the kiss, presses her mouth against the side of his, holding onto his neck, then shifts so that his cock is directly against her core. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He groans, low and guttural, hands falling to grip her hips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Andraste's tits." He breathes and despite everything, she lets out a faint giggle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Thinking of Andraste when mine are right here? I'm </span>
  <em>
    <span>offended</span>
  </em>
  <span>."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looks at her, apparently surprised that she's joking, but his expression shifts, mouth stretching into a smirk and instead of responding with words, he dips down, finding one of her nipples. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She moans slightly, fingers threading in his hair. He suckles until she's shaking, until it feels sore, then switches to her other breast, repeating the process, before pressing wet kisses against both breasts, biting slightly and making her gasp.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh, love…" she sighs as he moves upward, kissing towards her neck. He bites the side of it, drawing a small cry out of her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He lifts his hips and before she can protest at the separation, his fingers slip just inside her folds. She grabs onto his shoulders tightly, another gasp leaving her as he caresses upward, finds her clit. He begins to rub, gently in little circles, his other hand restraining her squirming hips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh, please. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>." she whimpers, and he quickens his pace, pressing harder, switching up motions until she arches, trembling violently, a sharp cry tearing out of her throat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As she relaxes back onto the towels, he pushes his fingers inside, eliciting yet another whimper. As he did that first night, he stretches her, preparing her for what's next. She shivers in anticipation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's been too long since the first time. Her body has faint memories of it, but has not become used to it, and when Thom begins to push inside, it reacts as if the sensation is new. She squeezes her eyes shut against the odd burn, slight but acutely felt. She feels tight and </span>
  <em>
    <span>full</span>
  </em>
  <span> - she has nothing to compare him to, but he's thick, and she wonders if her body will eventually adjust to that or if it'll always be this overwhelming.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Are you alright, love?" he whispers against her forehead, stroking her hair.</span>
</p>
<p><span>She blinks her eyes open, looks at him. "I will be." she breathes.</span> <span>"Just…"</span></p>
<p>
  <span>"Tell me when to move."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It takes a few moments, but eventually she leans in and whispers in his ear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The first thrust makes her throw her head back and cry out in need, her fingers digging into his back. He exercises a remarkable restraint, starting slow and measured, until she claws at him and begs for speed and force. He surges then, abandons his reigns, and she grows dizzy at his merciless pace, his hips slamming into hers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She muffles her noises the best she can against his neck, but a high-pitched wail escapes her when he hits a spot that makes her writhe. There's a good bit of distance between them and the camp, but she worries that they'll still hear </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"C-cover my mouth." she gasps. He stares down at her with a strange, intense expression, and then his large hand clamps down on her mouth. His doing so is accompanied by a particularly brutal thrust, drawing a long keening sound out of her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His other hand traces a path from her stomach, back down to her clit. One stroke, two, three. He presses his thumb down firmly and rubs back and forth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her scream dies in her throat, eyes rolling back, hands weakly trying to find purchase on anything, but finding nothing, fluttering about uselessly until they just fall, clutching whatever they can find of the towels. Her hips buck upwards, terrible shudders wracking her body.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then just as quickly as it began it's over. The world starts to darken at the edges, a heavy buzzing sound obscuring Thom's hoarse groan as he comes. She half-consciously reaches up to pet his hair, staring up at the golden sky with unfocused eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Fuck." he growls, presses a open-mouthed kiss against her cheek. "This was overdue."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hums in affirmation, eyelids fluttering shut. Thom brushes her cheek with his knuckles, chuckling softly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Will you be sleeping? Not the best place."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hums again, opening her eyes and smiling up at him. "Then do get off. I have to bathe again."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"As do I." he laughs, and moves away, pulling out of her. A mixture of their fluids dribbles out, trickling down her inner thighs. He suddenly curses.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What's wrong?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You're bleeding." he says guiltily, touching her thigh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She lifts herself up. "It's only my second time. My body wasn't afforded the opportunity to get used to this." she looks at him pointedly. "But you needn't worry...it didn't hurt."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His face falls, enough apology even without the words he follows it up with. She lays her hand against his cheek.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No. It's alright now." she presses her forehead to his. "But you do owe me a whole lot of </span>
  <em>
    <span>opportunities</span>
  </em>
  <span>."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looks at her, expression shifting slowly, eyes lighting up as he smirks. "That is a debt I'll repay happily, my lady."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They re-bathe, dress themselves and gather up discarded clothes and towels. Their entry back into camp is greeted by scouts pretending not to know anything, Solas awake and intensely focused on his plate of fruit, and Varric hiding his shit-eating grin behind a book.</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>They make love again that night, in the darkness of the tent, their bodies worn and tired from the day's tasks. She's on top this time, learning new positions, how to control things and bring herself pleasure. Her awkwardness gives way to enthusiasm, the exhilaration of sexual awakening, and soon they're spent, sweat-slicked and clinging to each other as they drift off to sleep.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Anika is roused by morning-sounds again, beams of light once more greeting her eyes, falling over her skin in undulating waves.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And there's Thom under her, his heart beating against her ear, arm locked around her waist. He continues to sleep, looking relaxed and content. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Memories of waking up alone had still been painful for her. The confusion, the dread, the feeling of bereavement, of being abandoned. Learning his reasons hadn't made any of it go away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had, in whatever small way, expected to find him gone again. It's an irrational fear, itching in the back of her mind. She doesn't know if it'll ever stop. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But right now, he's here, solid and comforting. She surrenders to his heartbeat and lets sleep come again.</span>
</p>
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